


(Mate)r

by DumbestBitchhh



Category: Cars (Movies)
Genre: Other, no one asked for this, they're still cars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 11:40:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18570724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DumbestBitchhh/pseuds/DumbestBitchhh
Summary: You think you're exploring an abandoned junkyard, but end up meeting your celebrity crush.





	(Mate)r

You can still hear your friends’ laughter echo as you roll at 1 MPH through the old junkyard. Fuck them. Fuck Truth or Dare.  
Ancient shells of Cars Past appear in the path of your headlights, and you shiver. This Lightning McQueen Road Trip was a bad idea. Suddenly, there’s a crash ahead, and you reverse—right into a rusty body.  
“Watch out, there’s ghosts in these parts. Oop, did I scare you?” The figure did scare you—you sped forward then quickly turned around to see a giant truck holding a lantern. “Sorry about that.” He lowers the lantern and you gasp—you’ve seen this truck on TV.  
“M-Mater? Tow Mater?”  
“That’s me!” He gives you a goofy grin, and your heart flutters.  
“Oh my gosh. I—” You realize just then that you probably had a little too much to drink, and it’s made you bold, or maybe you’ve just realized that this is your only chance, but then you suddenly blurt out— “I’ve always had a crush on you.”  
“Well, that’s awful nice of ya.” Mater blinks. “I wasn’t jokin’ about the ghost, though. We better get you inside.”  
Oh, shit. “Inside where?”  
“I can take ya to my shed. It’s over there.” He gestures to a pile that generally resembles a structure.  
“Okay.” He starts driving toward the pile, and you follow him automatically. 

It’s a tight fit in the shed, and the heat from your engines makes it warm. Speaking of engines, Mater’s hood is missing, which you’ve always found. . . interesting. . . and now your eyes keep wandering over to it.  
“Oh, sorry, I keep meanin’ t’ replace my hood. I keep losin’ it.” Mater is somehow preparing tea.  
You feel your engine heat up. “No—it’s not a problem. . . I don’t mind. . .”  
“Lightnin’ says I look like a hick. I tell him I am a hick.” He pulls out milk from god knows where and pours it into the tea. “You want milk?”  
“Uh—yes. Thank you. And, uh, really, I like that you don’t have a hood.”  
“Yer an intristin’ little fella.” He passes you the tea.  
“Thank you.” You take a sip. It’s mostly spoiled milk. You scoot it aside. Mater takes a great big sip, leaving a milk mustache, and you laugh a little. “You, uh, you got something there.”  
He looks at you with big, innocent eyes, and your heart melts. “Somethin’ where?”  
Your boldness from before comes back. “Um, here,” you reach your tire up and gently wipe the milk away.  
“Oh, thank you!” He still doesn’t get it. You wonder if he’s pretending, if he’s trying to let you down easy.  
You decide you’ve gotten this far and really have no more dignity to lose. “Wait, I didn’t get all of it.” You lean in, and look into his eyes, then lick the rest of the milk from his upper lip. You start to pull back, embarrassed, but his hook whips around and pulls you back into him, and you kiss him, soft at first, then a little more, running your tongue across his giant front teeth.  
He pulls back for air, although his hook keeps you close. “I never been with a Toyota Corolla before.”  
You’re at a loss for words; you really want to keep going. “Uh—is that—”  
He gives you a lopsided grin. “I like it.”  
You stare at him. This is the car you’ve always wanted to fuck. This is the car you want to fuck right now. “Oh. Good.”  
He grins wider, then thankfully pulls you back in. You kiss him back, then slowly work your way up. “I wanna—” you whisper to him.  
He grins. “This is why I don’t have a hood. Don’t tell Lightnin’.”  
You lean into him, taking in the smell of a mature car—diesel and antifreeze. His heat radiates in your face. You lean forward to run your tongue down it—  
“Oop, careful—” but his warning is too late—his engine burns you. “You okay?”  
You’ve never been better. You’ve never felt a burn this good. You can’t talk, but you nod, then lean back into him, more carefully this time, and smile when he moans. You decide to investigate all of his nooks and crannies, just to see how many noises he can make, but his hook pulls you back.  
He looks at you, panting. “Can you—my—” You nod, and he executes the fastest eight-point turn you’ve ever seen, until his tail pipe is in front of you. “Please. . .” You hear him say weakly, from the other side of the shop.  
He didn’t even have to ask. This is all you’ve wanted since you were a kid and saw McQueen’s best friend on TV. You run your tongue along the length of it, savoring his shiver, then curl it and run it along the inside, tasting what’s left of his exhaust. God, it’s exactly what you imagined.  
Ahead of you, his moans have grown louder. “Oh shoot, I’m—I’m gonna come!” You smile and press your tongue harder against him, going as deep as you can, until you feel him shake so hard a piece of him falls off. “Shoot,” he moans. He turns back around. “That was—let me—” He nudes your hood, and it springs open, ready. Your breath catches as his rough tongue touches you gently.  
Oh, this car fucks. He knows exactly where to touch you, exactly what makes your engine purr. No one has ever— “Oh god,” you moan, “I’m gonna—” Then he bites you with his enormous teeth, and you lose it. After a second, you close your hood, panting, and look at him.  
“Toyota Corolla, huh?”  
You nod.  
“How long you in town?”  
“A few more nights. Or. . . I could stay a little longer.”  
“Well,” he grins, “If you’re not too busy. . .”  
You smile back. “I don’t think I’ve seen enough of the junkyard yet.”  
“Well, you’re welcome for a tour anytime.”

You stagger out of the junkyard in the early morning and see that your friends have been waiting all night. One looks particularly concerned. “We could hear ghosts moaning! Are you okay?”  
“Ghosts?” You don’t remember hearing any-- You smile to yourself. “Oh. Yes. That was ghosts.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really sorry about this, I know it's a little strange. But someone had to write it. And my friend told me not to write it, so then I REALLY had to.


End file.
